


Riviera Life

by Omnicat



Series: Pay It Forward [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Gen, Happy Ending, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Post-Canon, sharing food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 11:34:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1426960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omnicat/pseuds/Omnicat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Steve have been traversing Europe looking for Bucky. Not everyone is convinced it isn’t an open invitation road trip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Riviera Life

It was four months since the fall of Hydra-slash-SHIELD, and Sam and Steve were staying in a tiny, touristy town in the French Riviera, in a tiny, touristy apartment for (supposedly) four that may have been the last available room in town. Their last lead had died in Cannes – literally, though even Steve couldn’t bring himself to mourn him much after all the too-close-to-personal dirt they’d dug up on the man – just the day before they got to him, a victim to the frenzy of sudden, no-longer-underworld activity following the exposure of all of SHIELD-slash-Hydra’s less than kosher actions and inactions. This particular altercation had been with local law enforcement, which was something of a relief to Steve. The alternative would have left the possibility that Bucky, knowingly and in cold blood and outside of any kind of law, was crossing off old tormentors, men and women who dealt in worse than death and got away with it, and Steve just wasn’t ready yet to make up his mind about _that_.

He was busily mulling it over anyway while he and Sam made their way back to the apartment after a night on the town. They’d gone on Sam’s insistence, and Sam was the one who got the most out of it, but Steve had enjoyed it while it lasted. He’d just had to ignore how there was still no sign of the guy he used imagined doing this with – touring Europe with, seeing the sights during peacetime with – back in the forties.

Long story short, Steve was so engrossed in his melancholy that Sam – inebriated and with his mind on a French hottie he had exchanged maybe three _coherent_ words with – was the one who swore under his breath and held out an arm to stop Steve the moment they stepped through the door, hissing "Someone’s in here!" under his breath.

Steve’s head snapped up then, because yes – yes there was. Suddenly he really missed his shield.

Sam and Steve exchanged glances, gestured wordlessly, nodded; Sam slipped into the nearest bedroom while Steve plastered himself to the bathroom’s outside wall and peered around the corner into the illuminated kitchen-dining-sitting room.

He froze.

Bucky was seated at the kitchen table, with eyes like a deer in the headlights and his cheeks puffed out, stuffed with... that was the fondue and baguettes Sam had insisted they get after Steve let some old anecdotes slip, laid out on the table. Bucky looked good. Bucky looked _well_. He was clean-shaven and short-haired and wore a clean white button-up with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. There was a familiar, battered manila folder top-down on the table opposit his dishes, a sports bag against the wall near Steve’s feet, and a big, flat carboard box propped up against the table leg nearest to Bucky.

Steve’s first, absurd thought was in Bucky’s voice: _Hey, sorry about the misunderstanding these past couple years, I was supposed to come with you straight away when I fell off that train, but they dropped me into the wrong future. Can you believe it? Fucking amateur hour._

"Bucky?" Steve breathed.

"Steve," Bucky blurted out, then pressed the back of his real hand to his full mouth while Steve’s heart skipped an ecstatic beat. When he’d choked down his food, he said thickly, "You’re back early."

"It’s past midnight," Steve answered on autopilot, his brain and heart too busy processing incredulity and elation and _Bucky!_ and _he remembers me!_ and _he’s talking to me!_ for much else.

"It’s your vacation," Bucky said.

Steve looked at him like he was crazy and wanted to say _no it’s not_ , but then Sam was there with a gun in each hand.

"The hell?" he said, looking between Bucky and Steve.

Steve snatched away the guns, threw them back into the bedroom with a clatter, and let a hopeful smile take over his face. "Sam, this is Bucky."

"Yeah, I kinda gathered that," Sam said. "From the lack of murder going on and all."

Bucky hadn’t moved a muscle.

"Hey," Sam said, raising a hand in awkward greeting. "Sam Wilson."

"Hey," Bucky returned – neutrally, not unkindly, though he didn’t offer anything else, not even a confirmation of his own name. Which wasn’t _necessarily_ odd, Steve had already made his introduction and Bucky no doubt realised Sam had known who he was all along, but given the circumstances? Bucky was just staring at them, with a wide-eyed kind of look that was the opposite of guarded yet managed to tell Steve absolutely nothing about what was going on in his head. Given the circumstances, how could Steve _not_ feel a stab of worry?

"Hey, Buck, you _do_ remember me, right?" he asked, taking a cautious step into the room. " _Really_ remember me?"

"Yeah," Bucky croaked. He swallowed thickly, eyebrows furrowing. "Yeah, you punk, I do. Would I be sitting here like this if I didn’t?"

"And do you remember _you?_ "

A moment of hesitation. "Well enough."

It took Steve’s breath away. It would have taken his breath away one way or another. "Can I hug you?" he blurted out.

Another hesitation. Then Bucky stood and pushed away from the table. "Yeah, okay."

Steve was the first to move, but in the end, it was Bucky who lunged into the embrace. Trembling, lungs working like bellows, a sound like a wounded animal in his throat, Bucky clutched Steve with all the strength he had now, and Steve – who had been hesitant, who had meant to go slow, gentle, unthreatening – found himself clutching back like he could pull Bucky into his chest and keep him there forever, safe and loved and whole. He could smell his own shampoo and cologne on Bucky before tears flooded his eyes and his nose closed up.

"Bucky," he whispered, and Bucky choked out something high-pitched and wordless, squeezed harder and shook harder and burrowed his face into Steve’s neck.

It was real. Bucky was back and he was real.

 

Sam looked away for a while. Made them tea. Reheated the cheese, because they could all use a bite to eat now. Ultimately, Sam was the one to pop the question too.

"So it’s been months," he said, putting the cheese back on the table. "Why now? What are you doing here?"

Bucky scrubbed a hand across his face and looked at the meal like he was seeing it for the first time. "Stealing your food?"

"What’s mine is yours," Steve said quickly. "And I’m sure Sam doesn’t mind either."

"It’s fine, not the point."

If Sam was uncomfortable setting the table first and hashing out the non-murder agreements later, he made a great effort not to show it. Steve counted his blessings.

"And using your shower," Bucky added without inflection, not looking up at either of them. "I came for the file. Made the mistake of opening it. I lost my composure. And my lunch." He went on without giving Steve time to think of what to say to that: "But you were out, so I cleaned up the mess, and myself. And then I was hungry, so I ate." Here Bucky hesitated. He swallowed and worked his mouth soundlessly, seeming to need a moment to shore himself up before he could look Steve in the eye and give him a faint, crooked smile. "I was stalling."

"Well, I’m glad," Steve said firmly, willing the sentiment to be a shield from whatever that was crashing down around Bucky’s ears just then. "I missed you. We’ve been looking all over for you."

Bucky actually barked out a laugh at that. "Yeah, I noticed. _Everybody’s_ noticed. And after what you did in DC, this wild manhunt of yours is scaring the crap out of people. I found you two by following the trail of unrest you’ve been leaving in your wake."

Steve and Sam exchanged a look that made Sam lean back and hold up his hands, laughing. "Don’t look at me man, it was all his idea."

Scaring the crap out of people, huh? "Look, Buck, I realise the last time we saw each other wasn’t exactly ideal –"

"Steve, if this is you about to apologize, I swear to god –"

"I’m not apologizing for that day and I won’t listen to any crap like that from you either."

"Good to know, I’ll make sure to write it down then."

They stared each other down.

Steve cracked first. "Did I break your arm?"

"I don’t remember," Bucky said.

Steve frowned.

"I don’t. It hurt for a day or two and then it didn’t, and now it’s fine. I had other things on my mind."

"I’m sorry."

Sam snorted and reached for the bread and cheese. "That was fast."

That got a smile out of Bucky and Steve both, though Bucky’s quickly turned bleak. "Me too. For everything."

"It wasn’t your fault, you weren’t yourself."

"Doing something shitty because you didn’t know any better doesn’t feel any less shitty after you’ve learned better."

"Well, you came and fished me out of the water afterward, which is more than I ever did."

Bucky flinched and looked away, a visible tremor passing through his entire frame. " _Don’t._ Not that, Steve. Just don’t."

"I’m sorry," Steve said lamely. He felt like shrinking right out of existence, letting years of guilt and grief swallow him up, but this wasn’t how he’d expected Bucky to react. For his sake only, Steve forced his feelings down and changed the subject. "What I was trying to say; I know DC was a mess, and I didn’t mean to scare you, but you gotta understand why I went looking."

"Oh, I do." Bucky’s face pulled into something that might have been a smile, something beautiful and painful that looked like his undoing. "After Insight Day, everything was confused. Nothing made sense. The things I was starting to remember, everything I _didn’t_ remember. _Still_ don’t remember. I didn’t know what to think – I barely remembered _how_ to think. At some point I realised you were after me." A laugh. "Sounds wrong, put like that, but that’s what it felt like for a minute. Then suddenly I remembered the _last_ time you came looking for me, and everything finally started to make sense. To feel real."

He reached out to tear off a piece of bread and drag it through the molten cheese. "Did you enjoy Amsterdam?" he asked apropos of nothing, looking up and stuffing the fondue in his mouth.

Steve blinked. "I didn’t really take the time to look around. We were chasing a lead."

"How can you not see anything of a city when you’re stuck doing nothing but _wait_ for your lead for a week?" Bucky asked, indignant and disbelieving. "Amsterdam has more museums than the average twenty-first century city has Starbuckses."

"We visited the Anne Frank house?" Steve offered.

Bucky shot Sam a look, as if for confirmation. "Unbelievable. I beach you in the city with the Rembrandts and the Van Goghs and you go to the Anne Frank house instead."

"Wait, you _beached_ us?" Sam asked.

"I didn’t want to see Rembrandt or Van Gogh," Steve said at the same time, beginning to feel torn between affront and incredulity himself. But Bucky looked so uncertain and suddenly on guard, those feelings drained away almost as soon as they came.

"I thought you wanted to go see the Night Watch once the place wasn’t Axis-occupied anymore," Bucky said.

Oh.

_Oh._

Steve’s throat constricted. "You remember that?"

"Wait, _wait_ , you set us up for a _vacation_ to Amsterdam under the pretence of there being a lead so Steve would go look at a Rembrandt? Am I hearing this right?" Sam asked, only for Steve to talk right over him.

"Did you forget the part where you were supposed to come with me, even if I had to carry you through the museum on my back, asleep and snoring?"

Bucky’s lips parted silently. _Oh._

"I’ll take that as a yes," Sam mumbled.

Bucky looked at him from the corner of his eyes and conjured up a smile. "What, your new best friend wasn’t good enough?"

"He’s not my new best friend," Steve said, grinning back as wide as his face would let him.

" _Um,_ " Sam said.

"You’re a real good friend Sam, you’re a _great_ friend and you mean a whole lot to me," he said. "But Bucky’s my best friend always and forever. Put it in writing when we were eight years old. Signed it with blood. Nothing I can do about it, sorry."

"Yeah, well, see if I ever do something nice for you again," Bucky choked out, eyes wandering and a slow, delighted laugh bubbling in his chest. "You scraped your knees and twisted your ankle falling off a fence, and I cut my fingers making the hole in the bottom bigger so you wouldn’t have to climb back over with your legs hurting. My mom yelled at us both. And then she made pancakes."

"After _my_ mom gave us tetanus shots she’d begged off of work."

"I _remember_ that."

Bucky laughed with Steve (and Sam too), laughed like it was addictive, laughed like it was new and strange and wonderful (it _was_ wonderful), laughed until it couldn’t hold back the wince anymore and he rubbed at his temple with his good hand.

"You okay?" Steve asked worriedly.

"Fine. It’s only psychosomatic."

"Hey, man, don’t push yourself," Sam said. "The brain sets its own pace. Besides, you’ve got seventy years on me in the BFF race, I can barely consider myself competition. It’s cool."

"You’re still a great friend, Sam. I hope you know that."

"But I’m not your BFF, Cap, and I will not tolerate your sap."

"Wait, does that mean I _am_ supposed to tolerate his sap?" Bucky asked, lips curled and eyebrow quirked. "I’m not sure I’m okay with that."

Sam grinned. "Forgive me for thinking you are when all this time, while we were worried about whether you remembered Steve at all, you’ve been making big romantic gestures _that Steve totally missed_."

Steve ducked his head. "Sorry, Buck."

Bucky grunted. "Ultimately I just needed you two to stay put and not rush headfirst into trouble for a while so I could take care of some business of my own, so we’re even."

He reached under the table and presented the cardboard box to Steve.

"You left this," he said simply.

Steve didn’t need to ask what was in it.

The door to the apartment opened.

Jumping up, Steve punched through the cardboard and found the handles of the shield without looking. Bucky froze, and Sam dropped the baguette and swore as his hands found no gun on his body.

Natasha breezed in and without a care in the world, parked a sleek black wheeled suitcase beside Bucky’s sports bag and stripped off her jacket. "Evening, fellas."

Steve lowered the shield and exhaled noisily. "Natasha."

Sam cursed. "You never heard of knocking, woman?"

"And miss out on the face you just made? Come on, Wilson, get real."

Steve sighed again, fondly. "Bucky, this is Natasha Romanoff, she’s a friend. Natasha, Bucky Barnes. Definitely a friend."

Her eyes went to Bucky, and she made an appreciative noise in the back of her throat. "Someone cleans up nicely."

"Have we met?"

"You’ve tried to kill me once or twice," Natasha answered with a shrug.

Bucky, who had relaxed right along with Steve, tensed anew, brow furrowing hard and deep. "On the bridge?"

"Most recently."

"I’m sorry," Bucky said cautiously.

Pulling out the last remaining chair at the table, Natasha waved the words away with a dismissive hand. "Don’t sweat it, we’ve all been there. All is forgiven, _if_..." She reached for the saucepan full of cheese, hand hovering over the handle but not touching, and looked up at Bucky through her eyelashes. "– you let me have the rest of the fondue."

"You’re serious," Bucky said wonderingly.

Natasha winked.

Steve shook his head, smiled, and sat.

Bucky looked from Natasha to Steve and back to Natasha before, slowly, he grinned his old Casanova grin and looked so much like the young, carefree Bucky Barnes from Steve’s memory he almost swooned like so many Old Brooklyn dames.

"Well, hello to you too then, good-lookin’," Bucky said, pushing the hot pan toward her with his metal fingers and presenting the remainder of the baguette with a flourish of the other hand.

Natasha smiled, pleased like the cat that got the cream. "I like this one, can we keep him?"

Steve raised an eyebrow. "We?"

"Thought I’d hang out with you guys for a while, keep you out of trouble," she said, tearing off a piece of bread. "You caused quite a stir in Ghent the other week."

"And I’m sure this has _nothing_ to do with your own blown covers," Steve said with nothing but fond amusement.

"Speaking of which, have you asked Sharon out yet or what?"

Bucky’s ears couldn’t have perked up more obviously if he were a cat. "Who’s Sharon?"

"A girlfriend of mine back in the States I’ve been trying to set Steve up with." Natasha’s smile showed teeth.

Bucky’s face lit like the rising sun.

 _Oh god,_ Steve thought. _He remembers that too. **There’s two of them.**_

"I _like_ you. Steve, can we keep her?"

"Why do I have a bad feeling about this?" Sam said, looking around the table and leaning as far back in his chair as possible.

"Oh no no no," Steve said decisively. "You two are _not_ –"

"But _Steve_ , she has a friend!"

Sam shoved his chair back until he hit the kitchen cabinets. "Okay, as of _right now_ I am officially Switzerland. Nobody even look at me, I am only here for the food and board."

Steve fisted his hand around the handle of an imaginary knife and stuck it in the centre of his chest, face contorted in its most tragic expression. Then he started laughing and caught Sam in a one-armed hug, and Natasha, and finally Bucky, and he didn’t let go again.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments on older fics will ALWAYS remain welcome.


End file.
